


A Beautiful Heart Gone To Waste

by Peter164



Series: Suicidal Sherlock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Sad Sherlock, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Suicidal John, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4481168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peter164/pseuds/Peter164
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock comes back from dying, he goes to 221B to see what John has been up to. He loves to deduce things. Or he did, until he found out what he did to John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beautiful Heart Gone To Waste

Sherlock unlocked the door. Everything was as he left it. He wondered what John had been doing since he had been away. 

He had made two cups of tea, one in Sherlock's favorite cup, for at least 6 months. He had opened the violin case a few times, but nothing was broken (thank god.) He had slept in Sherlock's bed more than once, his face buried in the pillow. He could seen the slight water damage that had been caused. He didn't need to be extraordinary to know why they were there. He had carried a gun in his jacket, as always. The purple shirt had been taken off the hanger multiple times. 

He was having such fun. Timothy the Skull was still perched on the fireplace, he hadn't been touched. He had found a new bottle of pills in the cupboard for depression, it was next to his still full bottle. In John's pill bottle, only half of the pills were missing. He had stopped taking them. Why would he stop taking them? Why would he need them in the first place? 

Now he was starting to get upset. He didn't want to look in the drawer that held John's emergency gun. Just by looking at the handle, he knew it had been opened too many times. Even still, he pulled open the drawer to look inside. The shiny metal had been worn dull at the trigger. He saw the scratches around the hammer and the cylinder. But the muzzle wasn't worn down. The grip design was starting to fade. 

John had loaded the gun, rubbed the grip, probably out of anxiety, pulled back the hammer, and had put his finger on the trigger more times than Sherlock could even count. Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? He didn't want to know why, but he did. 

He didn't want to think about it, but he did. He didn't want to remember finding the gun, but he did. He wanted to forget, but he didn't. He wanted to run to John, find him, pull him close, kiss his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, anything, 

But he didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is pretty short. I don't normally do short stuff, but this is short. I hope you enjoyed it. Actually no, I hope you hated it, I hope I just made you want to set yourself on fire. That was the point. Anyway, for anyone who doesn't know, the hammer of a gun is the little bit you pull down on a revolver. Pistols just have the back and forthy thing.


End file.
